so an active mazelike process
somewhere between instagram and chatgpt
something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever
After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting
The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.
...
...
Like the tide, it comes in and it washes over the beach. It's beautiful. But like the tide it goes out, sometimes it goes out further than it ever has, it recedes back across the beach and further out beyond the horizon. The bare seabed opens up in front of you and all you can do is look at it.
it is hopeful
⚠️ Live Document Forever ⚠️
and the fake qualifier
She says something that isn't really right but isn't really wrong. I'm not taking in their words any more, just their voices, trying to get a feel for whatever is going on between them. I'm imagining what it's like for them in this delicate situation, what I would say if it were me. She has that perfect upper-class accent, and she's using whatever upper-class tact that comes with it to navigate this. Style. They can't be together, but their voices are betraying them.
Hours staring at the ceiling, the wall, curling up into a ball. It seems annoyed with the light, it kind of recoils. It will get lighter. I wonder where it goes in the day.
the only things i have read are just excerpts and 1 dialogue by plato fully and mcluhan's medium is the massage but it cannot be considered a book
i sat down to eat my peasant dinner but i thought it was a song you sent so i didn’t watch it then